Blood to Dust(85)

Closing the door behind me, I notice he is indeed alone. His bedroom is simple, humble, even, with a queen-sized bed, no TV and sad, bare walls.

“It saddens me, what you did to Sebastian,” he says, getting up from his bed by pushing onto his cane. I erase the remaining distance between us. Pulling the sleeve of my leather jacket over my fingers, I reach for an hourglass sitting on a tabletop by his bed and turn it.

“He got what he deserved. Now it’s your turn to part ways with time.”

The stereo is humming in the background, changing movements.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he says with a smile. “I have a flight to London tonight and I am going to catch it. I wouldn’t miss my son’s wedding for the world.”

Squeezing my stress ball hard and releasing it slowly, I shrug.

“If you say so.”

Godfrey takes out a Glock from the back of his Bermuda shorts and points it at me. Guns are for pussies, I remind myself when my pulse grows erratic and I become light-headed. When I look into the barrel of his Glock, I realize that it’s not only a gun, but it is my gun. Bastard’s got a nice touch. He wants to end me with my own weapon.

“Thank you for making it so easy for me. Catching your boyfriend will be anything but a challenge. And you. . .” He shakes his head, grinning. “I wanted to give you to Camden, wanted to kill you from the inside before I slaughtered you in flesh, but I have underestimated you, Prescott. You can give real trouble. Now I simply want you dead.”

“Flattered,” I say, moving leisurely toward the bed and sitting on its edge, crossing my legs in complete nonchalance. My gun follows my every move, and Godfrey’s eyes widen in disbelief. I confuse him, and it’s making him stall. He’s wondering what I’ve got up my sleeve, when in reality, I’ve got nothing at all.

Confused people don’t act intelligently, they act stupidly. That’s what I’m counting on.

I’ve been on death’s door so many times recently, but never took that first step past the threshold. One more time is not going to kill me. Or maybe it will, but it’s a chance I’m willing to take.

Godfrey’s throat bobs, his gaze shifting from the night outside the window, to the door that’s still shut and then back to my stone-cold face.

“Why do you hate us so much? Me. My dad. My brother. . .” I choke, but my expression is icy. “You don’t normally ruin the upper-classes. You stick to the unfortunate souls, the ones who can’t fight back. Why us?”

This question has been bugging me for years, and it finally slipped between my lips. Today, I have a feeling, I will get an answer. No matter what happens in this room tonight, I know, only one of us walks out of here alive. It may not be me, but it doesn’t matter anymore. Any secret spilled inside these walls is not going to make it past the threshold.

“Her name was Marcia. She was American. Lived right here in San Francisco.” Godfrey’s fist chokes the gun tighter. I blink.

Camden’s mother.

“Was?” My stress ball keeps bouncing from side to side, dancing in my hands. “She’s dead?”

“She is.” He nods once. “Your father killed her.”

My blood runs cold, making my whole body numb. My dad? He’s incapable of deliberately hurting people. He’s too much of a wuss. Proved it time and time again. The way he treated Preston. The way he compromised me. The way he played into Godfrey’s game. . .

“My dad would never—” I start.

“It was an accident,” Godfrey interrupts. His tone is indifferent, detached. Off. “You weren’t even born yet. Camden was a wee baby. We’d just moved from England to San Francisco to be close to Marcia’s family. Marcia went across the road in the middle of the night to buy Camden formula at the Seven Eleven. Camden had been crying so badly, she was in a hurry and didn’t take the crosswalk. She always used the crosswalk, but not this time. Your dad wasn’t drunk. He didn’t lose control of the car. He didn’t go over the speed limit. . .” Godfrey’s eyes narrow on me. “But he was careless. Your mother took it hard, what happened to Marcia. She was the first to get out of the car and see what was left of her. Your mother lost it. That’s what ultimately led to her mental breakdown and the reason she checked into her very first rehab facility.”

My heart freezes in my chest but I never stop bouncing the ball, because it’s important.

Keep playing with the ball, Cockburn, Nate’s voice teases me in my head. Keep it moving.

My parents never told us. But surely, dad knew when he got into business with him. . .

“I took Camden and moved back to London. We had nothing to stay for in the States after her death. He was raised by nannies while I tried to move on. Your father was let go, and there was nothing I could do about it. Believe it or not, back then, I wasn’t after him. It was the phone call that made it all change.”

I’m looking away. Blinking the pressure out of my eyes. Still bouncing the ball.

“The phone call?”

I take a deep breath, gritting my teeth. This can’t be right. All of this happened. . .because of my dad?

“Remember what I said about only forgiving once? One chance, no more. The plan was to ruin your father. Not you or your brother. But when our business ties grew tighter and you’d met Camden, I couldn’t stop you two from falling in love. I told him to stay away from you. Told him the Burlington-Smyths were not our allies, but our enemies. He didn’t listen. He knew who you were, and that made him bitter.”